Return Father
by Renatus
Summary: James isn't dead. Voldemort had another torture prepared for his greatest adversary to date: only to return when the last of his blood is dead and gone. Now he must hear the story of his son's tragic life and face the youths that fought and won the war.
1. Lord Of The Manor

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

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Chapter 01 – Lord of the Manor

Godric's Hollow hadn't seen life in nearly two decades. So when a ragged looking man suddenly appeared amidst a violent swirl of wind that strangely didn't lift the thick layer of dust upon the furniture, the house itself seemed to shudder in response. The man however, didn't notice, so intent he was on the visions playing before his eyes; visions that had occurred in the very room he unknowingly stood within. The visions that were a memory of the last few moments he could recall, but that were a distant and speculated past to the world around him.

The man drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady his racing heart and labored breathing. The house again shuddered at the presence of life within its halls, a ripple nearly unperceivable but distinctly felt. This time, the man noticed the response.

The man looked up, seeing the room for what it was rather than how he recalled it. His hazel eyes were hard, yet confused as he took in the sight of the room. It clearly showed evidence of the decades of time it stood empty. A deep sadness filled his eyes at the sight, nearly hiding the horror-filled realization that his mind conceived.

He rose to his feet slowly, his eyes still darting around the room and its familiar objects. After but a moment, he turned, his movements slow and deliberate, and walked towards the hall that lead to the house proper. He took in the layers of dust and spreading cobwebs of the hall, but he didn't pause his steady pace. His eyes were hard and guarded as his feet walked a path that he didn't have to think on. He knew the house well. The hall emptied into a spacious living area, filled with furniture that once would have been cozy if not for the time of neglect. He took in the room, seeing his memories overlap the dusty sight before him.

He could recall the sight of the warm light from the fireplace that cast a glow over the room, warming it into a welcoming interior that he could no longer find before his physical body. He took in a ragged breath as his mind provided the figures that once lived within the house. He could see them in his mind's eye; the bright smile of the woman and the infant cries of glee from a child upon her lap. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the image of love that only caused him pain. His memory subsided, and he let his eyes open once more, again seeing only the dank and cold space of the house.

He moved through the room more swiftly than before, his eyes straight ahead as he refused them to look upon the area. He paused, however, at the foot of the stairs as he stared up into the shadows that cloaked the upper floor. It was only then that he noticed the steadily darkening light, and he glanced out a window to see that dusk was swiftly approaching. He watched the orange ball of the sun for a moment, taking in the riot of colors that sprung into the sky.

He turned from the sight and took a deep breath as he put one foot upon the bottom stair. With a strength he wasn't aware he had possessed, he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He slowed as he reached the landing, taking in the hall before him, and the doors that lined it. He didn't stop, however, as he knew that he would not be able to make his feet continue if he did.

His face showed his trepidation as he entered the first door to his right, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. There was no strength in him that could push him to enter the room. His eyes swept over the darkening chamber quickly, and then were drawn to the small bed that stood beneath the window. Its covers were pulled back and rumpled, as if they had been slept in and no one bothered to make it. One corner of the soft quilt lay trailed across the floor. The man stared at the image, his memory again taking over to overlay the dusty scene before him.

He could see the woman, her face lit by the soft light of the sunrise as she bent over the side of the bed. Beneath her was the infant child, his arms stretched up towards her as he batted at the strands of her hair as they tickled his face. The boy's innocent laughter rang silently through the man's ears as he pushed the image away.

He was once again faced with the shadowy room before him, covered in a layer of dust and utterly empty save the spiders in their corners. He drew in a ragged breath, feeling himself shake at the intensity of the memory. His hand shot out to grip the door jam, as he felt his knees weaken and he chocked back an anguished cry. A single tear leaked from his eye as he stared at the empty room. The impact of its sight hit him and he slid down to the floor, knowing that he would never again see the woman and child except in his own mind.

He was unsure how long he sat and stared, unseeing, into the room before him, but when he roused it was dark and night had fallen. He shifted his sore muscles, and rose to his feet, swaying slightly as he regained his balance. He moved slowly over to a table at the end of the hall, his hand running lightly along the wall in the dark. He found the table without problem, his memory providing its location and contents without even thinking about it. Pulling open a drawer, he found what he was looking for, a candle and set of matches. It took him a couple tries as his fingers fumbled with the book of matches, but he was soon graced with the flickering light of the candle.

Turning back to the hall with the candle in hand he entered another room, on the opposite side of the one he couldn't bring himself to enter. The room was more spacious than the first and the bed was large against the wall. He again looked around, but he refused his memories any purchase.

For a few moments he stood in the middle, simply watching as the candle cast flickering shadows on the wall before he turned and approached the dresser. Atop its dulled wooden surface was an assortment of items, but only one held his attention. It was a small glass figurine of a stag, standing proud with its antlered head raised high in defiance and confidence. Twined around the antlers, and trailing down its neck was a strand of greenery that sprouted small delicate flowers, lilies. He stared at it a moment before gently taking it in his hand and slipping it within a pocket of his robe. He looked once more around the room and left. He walked steadily back down the hall, not pausing at the open door of the child's room, and descended the stairs. He passed back through the living area and stopped in the foyer, back to where he had begun.

He couldn't stop the memory. It was the most vivid of them all, the most recent.

He saw the door buckle under an unseen force, and shudder before snapping violently, sending a rain of splinters throughout the room. The darkness outside the door poured into the house in the form of black robed figures. They circled the room, prowling around the man who stood at its center. For a moment there was nothing, no movement, no whisper of breath, and then suddenly chaos exploded.

The man had his wand already drawn, and he didn't hesitate before flinging out spells at the cloaked figures around him. They in turn, didn't hesitate to throw curses back at him. He was well trained, and an able fighter, but the odds were heavily against him. The man fell to the ground, writhing in agony at the mercy of one of the most unforgiving curses multiplied by the many hands that held it upon him. His wand dropped from his hand and rolled across the floor, but he didn't notice.

The pain stopped, and the man was left gasping for breath, his muscles shuddering from the after shocks of the curse. His attention though, was drawn to the new arrival. A man dressed not in black like the others, but in a deep green that matched his eyes.

"James." The dark man hissed out to him, pausing to stare down at the figure on the ground. "You have become bothersome."

The man, James, snarled up at the man in green, still unable to rise due to the curses thrust upon him. "Voldemort."

"It was remarkably easy to get to you, Potter." Voldemort said in a tone that neared that of normal conversation. "Especially with the aid of your very own Secret Keeper."

James' felt his eyes widen in shock at the revelation, then quickly narrow in anger. He had been betrayed. His friend had betrayed him and his family.

"And now you will suffer." Voldemort continued, "And your family will die."

James gasped for breath, his body shuddering uncontrollably in the after shocks of the multiple curses. He could not rise, and he noted that his wand had been lost from him. His thoughts flew to his family, and he hoped that they had the time they needed to escape.

"But death, for you, is too merciful." Voldemort said, kneeling down next to the prone form. "You have refused my offer, and defied me at every turn. I do not take well to such things, Potter."

"Fuck you." James ground out through his teeth.

Voldemort snarled, and then paused before chuckling. James shuddered at the sound.

"You will wish you had accepted my offer, Potter, when you return to find all of your line gone." Voldemort rose to his full height, staring down at the man below him. "I thought it was an appropriate punishment for you, Potter. To be forced away from the world only to return when the last of your blood breathes his last."

James struggled with his uncooperating body, forcing his limbs to move and support him as he rose to his knees.

"Don't worry." Voldemort said, taking a few steps backward. "You will not be gone long. Your brood will die this night."

James looked up into the cold green eyes of the Dark Lord, his body gasping for the breath it needed. He glanced around him, knowing that he was surrounded and that there was nothing he could do to escape. His only hope was that he had delayed Voldemort enough for Lily to escape with their son. It was all that mattered.

"I'm sure we will meet again, Potter." Voldemort said, snapping James' attention back to him. James watched in growing trepidation as the man's eyes shifted and turned color, the vivid green dulling and then changing to red. James felt the rise of power in the room, and saw it glowing from within the bright red eyes of the Dark Lord as he hissed out the words of a spell.

James initially didn't feel any pain from the spell, which surprised him. But the light that surrounded him brought a torrent of wind that whipped his robes around his body. Then a strange sensation of being torn ripped through him, as if he had held a portkey that was improperly made. He yelled out in pain as he was swept away with the wind.

James gasped sharply as he pulled away from the memory, falling to one knee as he returned to the present and tried to regain his bearings. He looked around wildly, searching the shadows of the foyer for the black-robed Death Eaters, his mind still caught in the moment of his past.

He began to calm when no evidence of Voldemort or his followers were in the room, and he again took in the sight of the dust covered furniture and dank walls. The sight of the house told him that it had been many years since Voldemort attacked their home.

The thought brought him hope that Lily and Harry had escaped and lived past that night, but he still felt the deep pang of sorrow and loss. The spell Voldemort cast upon him destined him to return only when the last of his blood had died. He knew in his heart, though it caused him great pain to acknowledge it, that his son was dead.

"Harry." He whispered painfully into the dark. His hand found its way to his pocket and his fingers curled around the delicate figure of the stag. He would never see his son again. He had known it when Voldemort said the words, but his heart hadn't accepted it until he saw the empty nursery.

From his position on the floor, James again scanned the room, fighting back the flickering shadows that threatened to take the shape of cloaked men. An odd shape caught his eye beneath one of the chairs in the corner. He crawled to the chair, peering beneath it to identify the object.

It was a wand. He pulled it out of the corner, sneezing as the motion pulled the dust up into the air. He felt a wave of warmth flow through his hand into his arm, and the wand shot out a burst of blue and orange sparks. James' face softened for the first time as he recognized the feeling of his wand. Somehow, it had been overlooked and left within the house.

James rose to his feet, leaving the candle cold on the floor and made his way to the door. His feet dragged slightly, reflecting the heaviness he felt in his heart. The once strong and solid door was gone and in its place stood a replacement of simple wood. James took only a moment to reflect upon the loss of the doors that had guarded the manor for centuries. He pushed open the simple doors that did little more than keep out the natural elements and stepped onto the front porch.

It was still dark, though a sliver of moonlight gave some light to the yard. James stood before the door, staring out over the yard before him. He couldn't see it well, but he knew that it was overgrown. Stepping down the few stairs to the ground James paused to glance back at the house, though he couldn't see it, before turning around and apparating away.

Behind him the ancient house shuddered at the departure of its Lord, sending a ripple of magic out from its foundations. As if rising from a long slumber the house stretched and pulsed, awakening its dormant powers before once again settling into silence.

James apparated directly to Hogwarts, appearing before the school gates. There was only one man he knew could aid him and that was Albus Dumbledore. He felt weary and sore, his body still suffering from the many curses that he was held under by the Death Eaters. He struggled to keep himself upright as his muscles spasmed sporadically.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to reach the front doors of the castle. By the time he climbed the stairs and faced the massive doors he was exhausted. Discovering that the doors were locked and that he would not be able to enter the castle, James slid down the wall to settle upon the floor. His body ached, and his head was beginning to swim. He had used much of his magic fighting the Death Eaters and then apparating; add to that he was still suffering from the exposure to so many curses and he was amazed that he hadn't yet collapsed.

He sat, huddled next to the wall of the school with his robes tucked close around him as the night went on. Resting his head back against the stone he saw that the sky was clear and the stars were bright. He was barely aware of his body slipping into sleep.

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	2. He Would Be Eighteen

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 02 – He Would Be Eighteen

James awoke with a start, and immediately groaned as his muscles protested his movement. He blinked the sleep from his eyes as he took in his surroundings and the rising dawn. He winced as he shifted his legs from their curled positions. Pulling his robes about him he looked around and immediately tensed. He was not alone.

James had his wand out and pointed at the figure's chest in a quicker time than he thought he was currently capable of. The figure didn't move, in fact didn't react at all to his sudden act of defense. The man was dressed darkly, and James suspected that the thick cloak wrapped around his shoulders was a dark red in color. James tightened his grip on his wand and his arm was gratefully steady as he tried to pierce the shadows surrounding the figure's face. It was difficult, as the sun was rising beyond and wouldn't allow James' eyes to see any details about the figure. He was, however, able to determine that it was a man by his build, though he was rather short and slight. James would have guessed that he was a student, except the sheer presence of the man was beyond anything he had ever witnessed in someone of school age.

"Who are you?" James demanded as he rose to his feet, keeping his wand trained expertly to the short man. He ignored the cramps in his muscles and the slight tremor he felt travel through his legs. His added height didn't help him to see any of the man's features, but he felt better not lying at his feet.

"Should I not be asking you that?" the man replied. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but James suspected he would have had no trouble hearing him if he was on the other side of the grounds. The man's pitch may have been soft, but his tone and his power were hard as steel. When the man spoke, he was heard. This, James knew instinctively. The man before him was not one to be trifled with.

"I am here to speak with Albus." James said, still not lowering his wand. "Now, who are you?"

The man seemed to regard him for a moment before turning away from him to face the doors of the school. James got a better look at the man's profile as the stranger approached the doors. It was no one whom he recognized, though he had to remind himself that he was no longer in 1981. James gasped lightly as the slight man opened the doors without pause and entered the school. Hogwarts' doors, when locked, should only be able to be opened from the inside.

"Come then." The man's voice called back to him.

Despite him self, James followed the stranger and entered the school. He lowered his wand, though he did not put it away, and kept himself on guard as he followed the strange man.

The entrance hall was dim, it being too early in the morning for the majority of the torches to be lit. Thus, James still had no clear sight of the man before him as they traversed the halls of Hogwarts. The man made no noise as he walked, which was disconcerting. James found himself suspecting the dark cloaked man to be some sort of vampire numerous times, but the wards of the school would not have easily allowed such a creature entrance. That, and James was sure that the man was breathing, not to mention the brief time they were in the early sunlight of the morning.

The path they followed was comfortingly familiar to James. He knew that their destination was the Headmasters' office. He had walked that particular series of halls and turns enough times to be able to do so blind.

By the time the pair reached the stone guardian, James was having difficulty breathing evenly and his muscles burned from the use. He was still weak from his battle, and his body was hardly recovered from the spells cast upon him. He felt, however, that he hid his struggles well from the stranger he walked with.

The shorter man paused before the guardian, turning slightly to regard James with an intensity that he couldn't see but felt distinctly. He tightened his hold on his wand. The stranger stared at him a moment longer before turning back to the statue and whispering a word James wasn't able to catch clearly, though it sounded suspiciously like 'ice mice'. The statue slid to the side, revealing the winding stairs that lead to the Headmaster's office. James followed the man up, leaning against the wall slightly for support as he climbed the stairs.

The man didn't knock on the door, which James thought odd, but simply entered the office with an ease and familiarity that set him on edge. James followed more slowly, pausing slightly in the doorway to take in the room before him. It was obviously still occupied by Albus, as his trinkets and apparatus' were all whirring away in their places. Even the phoenix sat on his perch, watching their entrance with keen eyes.

James' eyes darted to the stranger as he reemerged from a doorway in the back of the office. James hadn't noticed that he had left. He watched with mild caution as the figure crossed the office silently. The office was lit only by the light just beginning to stream through the windows, so again, James was unable to discern any details about his companion. The figure stopped when they were but a few paces apart, and James got the impression that he was again studying him intently.

When the shorter man reached into his robes, James' wand was pointed between his eyes in a heartbeat. The man didn't react to this, however, but simply continued his slow movements, and pulled a small vial out of an inner pocket of his robes. James, despite feeling slightly foolish at his jumpiness, didn't offer an apology to his reactions, though he did let his wand fall back to his side. The stranger studied him again for a moment before holding out the vial to him. James took it with only slight hesitation, and dropped his eyes to read the label on the small bottle. It was clearly in a foreign language, and indeed, even seemed to be written with a strange slithering alphabet. James looked up in confusion and wariness.

"It will calm the spasms." The figure said in his soft voice. James started at that. He had thought that he had hidden his body's near violent reactions. Apparently he hadn't hidden them well enough.

"What is it?" he demanded. He was not about to drink a potion that he didn't know, and certainly not from a stranger that seemed as dark as the one before him. He had been well trained, and his cautions were still too sharp, his wounds too deep, to trust easily.

"A post Cruciatus potion." The man said. James stared at him. He had no idea how the stranger knew that he had been hit with the Unforgiveable, and it unnerved him.

He was startled from his thoughts as the phoenix shifted and took flight off its perch. James watched its progress as it circled the room once before landing on the shoulder of the figure before him. He was again startled when he looked back to the man's face. The bird's movement had unblocked the window its perch was situated before, and the rising sun's light now streamed into the office, bringing the man's face into view.

He was young. James was accurate in his assessment that the man was likely a student, or in the least recently graduated. His dark hair hung before his eyes and covered his ears, though not completely that James couldn't catch the slight glint of metal there. The young man had striking features, and was clearly good-looking, though the right side of his forehead and cheek bore scars that appeared to be the result of intense burns and made him wince in sympathy. James however, was drawn to the man's eyes. He felt his breathing quicken slightly as he stared into the hard, intense eyes of the man before him. His recent memories again threatened to overwhelm him, and he didn't realize that he had backed up into the wall behind him until he hit the stone. The man before him, however, didn't move to approach him, instead simply stared back.

"Albus will be with you in a moment." The young man stated, and then walked past James and out the door, with the phoenix still seated primly on his shoulder.

James shuddered as he felt the man's presence recede and fade away, and he let out a ragged breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. The man's eyes had scared the wits out of him, and he wasn't ashamed to admit to it. Such a color was unnatural. James had only seen such eyes on one person before; Voldemort. Only Voldemort had had such red eyes. James shuddered again as he recalled the stranger's face with the blood red eyes of the Dark Lord. However red the young man's eyes may have been, James knew that it was not Voldemort. No phoenix would touch such a darkness. He was still unnerved greatly from the sight, however.

He looked down at the vial clutched in his hand. The liquid was deep blue in shade, and the morning light shined through the glass vial, making it look as if it glowed. He was unaware of a potion created solely for the purpose of counteracting the Cruciatus, and again he reminded himself that he was not in the time he felt he should be. It was entirely possible that new potions had been made in the interim. Despite this, he didn't drink the contents, his mind still flashing with the images of Voldemort gathering his power as his eyes changed color and the young man who shared the same red hue in his eyes.

"You should drink that." A familiar voice called to him. "Evander knows his potions well, and you look as if you could use it."

James raised his head slowly to look at the old man across the office from him. Albus hadn't changed terribly, though he looked ancient compared to James' memories of him. It had clearly been a good span of time since Godric's Hollow had been attacked.

"Albus." James all but whispered. Now he was there, he had no idea what to say or tell the old man before him. He wasn't sure that he could explain what happened, and what Voldemort condemned him to.

"James?" Albus asked. James noticed a quaver in the voice, and suddenly the Headmaster was at his side, putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to a nearby chair. James let the man guide him and sunk into the seat gratefully. He sighed with relief as his muscles relaxed slightly, no longer having to hold him up.

"James?" Albus asked again, gripping his shoulder tightly. James didn't respond. He was too busy keeping his breathing steady and even and his muscles from jerking. He vaguely felt hands pry the vial out of his own and a moment later felt the glass against his lips.

"Drink, James." Albus' smooth voice told him. James did. The liquid was cool and relatively tasteless. He could feel it spread through him quickly, the coolness of its effects was refreshing and he couldn't repress the shiver that ran up his spine. The near cold feeling however was quickly followed by a wave of warmth, which relaxed his body and seemed to cocoon his mind. James breathed a deep sigh of relief as his muscles finally ceased their sporadic and violent shudders, and a pressing headache he wasn't aware of faded away.

"Better?" Albus asked. James nodded, and opened his eyes. Albus looked at him with concern and obvious shock, which James was unable to tell the reason of.

"He's gone." James said, feeling the anguish rise up in him.

"Who is?"

"Harry." James chocked the name out, unable to hold back a sob as his feelings threatened to overwhelm him. His son was dead. That was the very nature of the spell that Voldemort cast upon him.

"What do you mean?" Albus asked. James shook his head, unable to speak yet of the night that, to him, was only hours past. Albus simply gripped his shoulder, seemingly in support and offering him strength.

"He came. We had no warning." James said, no longer bothering to fight the tears, though he was no longer choking on his own pain. "Peter betrayed us. Lily…" James stopped, unable to voice the words and just shook his head.

Albus' hand left his shoulder, though he barely noticed its absence. A moment later the old man reentered his vision, holding a shallow bowl. It took James a moment to process what it was that Albus had in his hands. It was a pensieve.

James sought out Albus' eyes, and saw the sorrow, but also the slight doubt.

"We thought you were dead." Albus said softly. James felt his eyes widen in shock. "Will you allow me to view that night?" the old man asked. James stared at him for a moment, still too stunned to respond. They had all thought him to be dead.

"James?" Albus' voice broke his slight trance and James nodded minutely. Albus moved the pensieve closer as James raised his wand to his temple, recalling the memory of the attack and the time he spent when he found himself back in Godric's Hollow. He pulled the silvery memory away form his head and let it float into the swirling substance of the pensieve. Albus stood and retreated to his desk, setting the bowl carefully upon its surface. With a final look at James, Albus dipped a finger into the bowl and delved into the memory.

James was silent as he watched the Headmaster, taking the time to wipe the trails of tears from his face and catch his breath. He felt much more relaxed, though he still felt sore and weary. He was relieved that his muscles were no longer tense and shaking. The potion the young, red-eyed man gave to him had certainly worked. His heart, however, was a far different story.

"James." The Headmaster said, coming out of the pensieve and meeting his eyes. "I am so sorry, my boy." Albus rounded his desk and sat in a chair near him. "We had all believed you to be gone. Tom was never of the habit to spare his targets. Even when we never found a body, we simply assumed that you had died."

James nodded, accepting the Headmaster's words. He understood the man's reasoning. He had been just as surprised at Voldemort's words and the spell he used.

"Lily?" James whispered the name. He feared the answer, but he had to know if she had survived. There was a heavy silence, and James had his answer, though he held out a sliver of hope that he was wrong.

"She died, that night, to save your son." Albus said. James squeezed his eyes shut at the confirmation. His beautiful Lily had died. She hadn't had the time needed to escape as he had hoped. His hand found its way into his robes and curled around the figurine.

"Her sacrifice allowed Harry to live." Albus' words at first didn't register, and then James' head shot up to stare at him.

"What?"

"She died to save him, and Harry lived. He lived where no other had."

"Voldemort spared him?" James was shocked. Harry was the greatest reason for Voldemort to attack the Potters. It made no sense for the Dark Lord not to kill Harry.

"No." James stared at the Headmaster. "Tom didn't spare Harry. He turned the Killing Curse on him and cast it, but Harry survived it."

"He missed?" James struggled to understand.

"Harry survived the Killing Curse, James." Albus said, a strange intensity in his voice. "The spell was rebounded off of Harry and hit Tom."

"He's dead then?"

"He is now." Albus said. "Though that didn't kill him at the time. Tom was simply evicted from his body, and barely survived the years as a spirit."

James was stunned and sat in silence as he processed what had been told to him. His son, his Harry, had survived the Killing Curse. It was impossible to conceive. No one had ever survived that curse, and then infant Harry did.

"Harry was indeed the one the Prophesy spoke of." Albus said softly. "Tom marked him that night."

"How long?" James asked the question that had begun to plague him.

"Sixteen and a half years."

James was silent for a moment, again processing the new information. Over sixteen years had passed without him. To him, it had been less than a day since Voldemort attacked his home, yet to the world it was beyond sixteen years ago.

"He would be near eighteen, then." James said, seeing the infant form of his son in his memory. "He would have just graduated from Hogwarts, and would be starting out on his own. Maybe at University, or as an Auror, or in Quidditch." James fell silent, staring off into a sight that only he could see. He did not notice the Headmaster's sad look as he watched the younger man imagine a son he hadn't got the chance to watch grow.

James fell into slumber as he lost himself in his imagination, letting go of his hold on consciousness. Albus rose slowly and transfigured the chair into a couch, before laying his young friend out into a more comfortable position. James shifted restlessly before settling into the depths of the cushions.

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	3. And The Story Begins

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 03 – And The Story Begins

James woke feeling groggy and not a little lethargic. He shifted and took in his surroundings, slightly surprised at what he found. Albus' office was quiet, save for the slight whirs and clinks made by his various trinkets. By the light filtering through the windows, it was late afternoon. Sitting up and stretching still sore muscles, James found that he was alone in the chamber.

He rose from the couch and crossed to the windows looking out over the grounds. By his determination it was perhaps mid summer, though a cool breeze made him think that it was later in the year than he thought. He watched the empty grounds for a moment, taking in the peaceful sight before turning away from the window. He exited the office, carefully making his way down the stairs and out into the hall. The school was as quiet as the office he had just left, which felt strange to him, as he was so used to the bustle and chatter of hundreds of students.

He traversed the halls at a sedate pace, taking in the peace that seemed to permeate the castle. It was not so when he had last set foot in Hogwarts' halls. The stillness seemed alien to him, so used he was to the heavy terror of Voldemort's reign.

A low murmur of voices broke him out of his thoughts. Only hesitating a moment, James turned and followed them, seeking out their owners. He soon found himself in the doorway to the entrance hall. Three male figures stood in a companionable circle across the chamber, talking in low tones. James was unable to determine their words. He watched them for a moment as they conversed. The taller two were clearly adults, and seemed to be trying to convince the younger one of something, if their tones and gestures were any proof. James studied the three. He was unable to see the face of the youngster, though he had a sinking suspicion that it was the red-eyed man he had encountered earlier. The two adults were facing in his direction, and both were terribly familiar to him, though they were far older than he had remembered them to be.

"Remus?" James stared at his sandy haired friend, at a loss for words. Remus' eyes met that of his old friend, and the two stared at each other. James barely registered that the other two had turned to look at him as well. The youngster was, indeed, the man with the red eyes.

"James." Remus said in greeting, his amber eyes wide. "Albus told us you were here."

James nodded minutely, still staring at his friend. The changes that had taken place in Remus seemed drastic to him. No longer was the werewolf young and energetic. A world-weary weight seemed to rest on his shoulders, and his face was lined with age and pain. James was slightly startled to find that his hair was streaked with gray.

"Potter." James turned his gaze to the other man, taking in the dark robes and equally dark eyes. Severus Snape hardly looked much different from James' memory, short of the obvious decade or two of added age.

The youth stared at him with his unnerving red eyes, and James repressed the urge to shuffle his feet under the intense gaze. The young man suddenly turned away from him, and with a word to Snape swept past the Slytherin to the hall beyond. James watched the youth's back as he disappeared around the bend, his curiosity warring with his caution about the boy. His attention, however, was drawn sharply back to the two adults.

"You haven't changed a bit, Potter." Snape sneered at him. Remus shot the Slytherin an exasperated look, which Snape only returned with a smirk before following the youth away from the entrance hall. James turned his attention back to his friend.

"Who is the boy?" He asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

Remus looked immensely sad for a moment as his eyes darted after the youth, but the emotion passed quickly, and James wondered if it was ever there. "Evander."

James looked after the departed youth, his curiosity still piqued, but he let it pass for now.

"We all thought you were dead." Remus said softly.

"I know." James said, meeting his friend's eyes once again. Remus looked haggard, and seemed to be torn in two directions with his emotions, which made his eyes flash brightly.

"Albus is in the Great Hall." Remus said, motioning to the doorway behind him. James nodded. He understood that Remus was uncomfortable, which caused his own emotional conflict, but he couldn't blame his friend. The world had believed him to be dead for fifteen years, and suddenly he showed up again. If their positions were reversed, James knew that he would feel awkward as well.

Remus led the way into the Great Hall, with James close behind him. He had no idea what to say to his friend, so he simply walked beside him up the spaces between the house tables. Scanning the Hall, James found the Headmaster to be seated at the far end of the Gryffindor table alone, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed up at the enchanted ceiling.

"James, how do you feel?" Albus asked, upon noticing them.

"Better." James sat himself across from the old man at the table, a feeling of nostalgia springing up in him at the familiar seating. "Physically, anyways." He mumbled.

"Yes, that potion is quite effective." Albus said. James was grateful that the Headmaster didn't pry, or try to push him to talk. He doubted that he was ready to speak on the loss of his family. He wasn't sure if he ever really would be.

"Evander and Severus developed it through the last year." Albus continued, "with the aid of Madam Pomfrey and Neville Longbottom's knowledge of herbology. It was of great help to us during…"

James rested his head in his hands as Albus' voice washed over him. He may have found himself more interested in the conversation if it was a different situation, but he couldn't concentrate on the topic.

"What happened?" James interrupted Albus' long-winded explanation, finally gathering enough courage to say the words. He was hesitant, and wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know what occurred during the sixteen years he was gone, how his son died.

Albus fell quiet, and stared at him over his glasses, the twinkle gone from his eyes. James raised his own to meet the blue ones of the Headmaster.

"Tell me." He said, almost pleadingly. He needed to know, even if he didn't want to.

He heard Remus take in a shaky breath beside him, and glanced over to his old friend. Remus copied his earlier movements, and rested his head in his hands, his eyes staring down at the surface of the table. James turned back to Albus a little hesitantly.

"Albus, please." James said. The Headmaster nodded.

"Please let me tell it all in its entirety." Albus said, "Before you ask your questions. This story is not always pleasant, and often far from easy to hear."

James nodded, and Albus took a deep breath before resting his chin upon his folded hands, his eyes boring into James' own.

"I will tell you much of what occurred in the past sixteen years," Albus said, his voice quiet and calm, but laced with sadness. "But many things I cannot tell you, because they are not for me to say."

And so the story began. James listened intently, his attention drawn to Albus and the history he told him. James often found himself angered, and more than once had to restrain himself from reacting adversely to what he was told. He was horrified at the treatment given to his son by Lily's sister and her family, and felt anger at Albus for placing him there in the first place. His horror, however, only grew as the story continued and the life of his son unfolded. He was astonished that Sirius was blamed for Peter's treachery, and felt tears trail down his cheeks when he learned of his best friend's fate in Azkaban. He was conflicted with emotions, his horror warring with the pride he felt for his son, and they clashed with the deep sadness he felt. He had missed all of it.

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	4. The Youths Of War

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 04 – The Youths Of War

James sat in a stunned silence, his eyes open, but unseeing as his mind tried to process the story that he had been told. Albus' tale had taken many hours to tell, and stopped as James broke down at the news of his friend's death. He could barely handle that Sirius had died, and at the hand of his own cousin, after all that he had gone through. James took a shaky breath, trying to calm his emotions enough to regain control of himself. Voldemort had planned on him losing his family, but James had lost so much more.

Taking a fragile hold of himself, he looked around, feeling surprise at the added people in the Great Hall. Snape and the boy, Evander, had apparently arrived sometime during the story, and James was startled at the deep sorrow that filled the red eyes of the youth. He was more surprised, though, at the appearance of a small gathering of young adults, whom he would guess were all near the age of Evander. They all sat at the opposite table, gathered close together as if supporting each other. Each member of the group sat within touching distance of another, and seemed to take strength from each other through their contact. James was struck by the strength of their obvious camaraderie, and the sheer presence that the group exuded. They were powerful youths.

"Harry was always told how much he looked like his father." A red haired young man said quietly. James rather suspected that the boy was related to the Weasley family. "Now I see why, he really did inherit much of your looks."

"There are differences, though." A second red-haired youth said, a girl, perhaps the boy's brother if their similarities were any evidence. The boy nodded at her words.

James studied the group, again amazed at their closeness and their power. However young they looked, though, he could see the maturity in their eyes. They had seen too much for their age, and were molded by it. They had seen and fought in a war of terrible proportions. James didn't have to be told that these young adults, barely children, had fought against Voldemort and his forces. They radiated strength and experience. The sorrow and coldness of their eyes told him that they survived because they made sure that their enemies didn't.

"You're Harry's friends, aren't you?" James asked quietly.

The red haired boy nodded, his eyes flickering to look towards the Slytherins standing a couple meters away before returning to James' own. "I'm Ron Weasley. Albus has mentioned my name in his little narrative a few times I believe."

"More than a few, I'm sure." The brown haired witch said dryly, "You are his best mate." The witch turned her gaze to James, her brown eyes softening only slightly when they met his. "I'm Hermione Granger, the red haired witch to my right is Ginny Weasley. The two blondes there are Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood."

James nodded at each in turn, drinking in their faces and names. They had been closest to his son during his life. They had all fought together. He could tell that they had not escaped the war unscathed, despite keeping their lives. Each bore the scars of their battles, though he had yet to hear about the last two years of the war, he knew from their looks that it was intense.

Ron bore a nasty scar that lined the left side of his face from his brow to his jaw, and appeared to have been blinded in that eye, if its milky color was any proof. The Longbottom boy looked remarkably like his father, except for his nose, which appeared to have been broken once or twice. He sat close to the blonde witch, Luna, who had lost her right arm below the elbow. James winced at the thought. A wizard tended to be stronger with one hand or the other, to lose the wand arm, especially during a war, was a devastating handicap. She would have had to relearn all the spell movements, and would be lucky to reach her previous skill level. The last two girls bore no obvious scars, though both their eyes were hard and shuttered. It was likely that they had experienced things that didn't leave physical marks, or at least were more easily hidden.

James was struck with a deep sorrow for them. They had fought a war when they were barely out of childhood, a war that thrust them into being adults. It had molded them into hardened, experienced warriors. James didn't need to be told that the group had been on the front lines, he could see it in their eyes, the way they stood and in the aura that they radiated. It was astounding that such youths could hold so much power and presence.

James took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to the Headmaster. Albus was watching him intently, his eyes lacking any trace of their usual twinkle. "Tell me the rest." James said softly.

"Perhaps you should rest for a while, first." Albus said. "It is a lot to take in."

"Albus, I need to know." James said, his voice filled with intensity. He needed to know. He needed to know about his son, and the life he was expected to live because of a prophesy. He needed to know how he had died.

The Headmaster heaved a sigh, lowering his eyes to the table top. "The last two years was not easy to live, are painful to recall, and will be very difficult to put into words."

James nodded. He understood. He doubted he would be able to speak about the attack on Godric's Hollow for some time, and he knew that it would be painful no matter when he spoke of it. Such tragedies could not be fully expressed with words alone.

But he still needed to know, and he doubted that he could watch the scenes in a pensieve. It would make it all too real, to see it all from a memory. He needed to be told first.

Albus began the tale, and his first words did nothing to calm any of James' fears. "After the Ministry publicly admitted to Voldemort's return, Tom no longer had any reason to hide nor hesitate."

James took a deep breath, staring intently at Albus as if holding on to the man. He knew the story would not be easy to hear.

"He struck Azkaban first, in mid-summer, as he had the aid of the Dementers and many of the inmates. He left it in ruins, and placed the bodies of the Aurors stationed there on pikes before the fortress' gates. He was long gone before we were able to arrive.

"Surrey was the second major target, during the last month of summer holidays after Harry's fifth year. Tom was after Harry, and attacked the Dursley's in their home. The blood wards failed, and the Dursley's were tortured and killed. Harry put up a valiant fight, but was taken by the Death Eaters."

James breath caught at the man's words. He knew that Harry was a major target of Voldemort, and that he fought against the Dark Lord face to face numerous times, but he hadn't even imagined that his son had been a captive of the Death Eaters. James knew of the horrors that the Death Eaters inflicted on their victims. He had seen the results of their tortures on the mutilated bodies of his comrades, none had ever returned alive. Most were unrecognizable.

"We had no idea where he was hiding Harry." Albus continued. His voice was the only sound in the Great Hall. "We did all we could to find him, or any information on his whereabouts. It was three weeks before we had any news. Severus managed to locate him and get him out alive. It revealed his position as a spy, but both escaped, which we were more than glad for at the time."

James glanced over to the dark haired Slytherin. He had never liked the man, though he couldn't help but have a grudging respect for him. Snape looked back at him with a cold, indifferent mask. James hardly blamed him. Snape had no reason to neither like nor even trust him. Yet the Slytherin had saved his son. James looked away, barely catching the similar masked look on Evander's face as he returned his gaze to Albus' bent head.

"Harry survived, though he was…changed. He was harder, though I doubt anyone blamed him. The last of his innocence had been taken from him, and the only thing that remained childlike in him was his physical age." Albus drew in a shaky breath as if his words pained him. James rather suspected that they did, as he felt his own pain at the news of his son's time in the Dark Lord's custody. "They had not gone easy on him. We still do not know why Tom had not simply killed him. We will never know.

"The next target was Hogsmeade on that Halloween. Many of the students were in the village that day. In a way, it was a blessing, as many of the upper years had been training in Defense for just such an occasion. They were able to face the Death Eaters, giving the young students and residents of the village the much needed time to escape and warn the Ministry. It was during that attack that young Mr. Weasley lost the sight of his left eye."

James' eyes flickered to the red head, curious despite himself, at what spell the boy had been struck with to cause such damage. The scar was an angry red line that stood out against his pale skin. The boy seemed to notice his scrutiny, and decided to comment on it.

"I was trying to attract the attention of a couple Death Eaters. They were sniffing around a little too close to the hiding place of a few third years." Ron said.

"Well you got their attention, all right." His sister said wryly as she leaned into his shoulder, "You managed to get surrounded by five of them!"

"Four."

"One of them was Lucius." Neville said, his voice nearly as soft as Evander's, and just as strong. James could feel the strength behind the words the youth spoke, and recognized it as the maturity and power that it was. He felt a slight pang of sadness for the boy, as he knew that Neville was the other child of the prophesy. He was curious about the boy's story, and what part he was pulled in to play.

"Yes, yes." Albus said, his eyes warm and sad at the same time as he looked over the group. "They all displayed miraculous strength that day."

"Strength that convinced you to place the NEWT level students within reach of the war." Evander said. His voice was quiet and neutral, but something in his tone or the feeling behind his words gave the impression of a deep accusation. James got the distinct feeling that the red-eyed youth was not pleased with the decision to let the students of Hogwarts become involved in the struggle.

Albus sighed, and James was struck by the look of weariness that passed over the man's features. "Yes, Evander, I know." The youth made no further comment, though his silence didn't surprise James. He seemed to be inclined to hold his tongue, and speak only when he had to, or when he had something significant to say. James suspected that anyone who was in the least bit familiar with the youth would listen to every word he spoke.

"Hogsmeade was evacuated, with only minimal lose of life, though we caught only a few Death Eaters." Albus continued, his tone heavy. "After the razing of Hogsmeade Voldemort seemed quiet. We did not know what he was planning, we had very few means of gathering information left to us. It wasn't until Christmas that he showed himself again. He had four main targets." Albus gestured slightly with his hand towards the youths. James glanced at them, noticing their expressions were cold, yet filled with grief.

"Tom targeted the families of the students who thwarted him at the Ministry when he tried to gain the prophesy." Albus said.

James felt his eyes widen as he continued to stare at the young adults. Their expressions never wavered, though he could see the sadness deepen in their eyes.

"St. Mungo's was unable to halt the Death Eaters as they charged through their halls. They cared little for who got in their way, they were after two souls, and they killed many during their task. Frank and Alice Longbottom fell to the Killing Curse. The Death Eaters left immediately after. The only consolation in their deaths was that they were likely unaware of them."

James closed his eyes at the news. He and Frank had been close comrades in the Order, and during their training. He grappled with the news of his friend's death, and caught onto a simple thing that the Headmaster had said.

"Unaware?" he all but whispered.

"Frank and Alice were attacked by Death Eaters shortly after Voldemort fell at Godric's Hollow." Albus said. "They were held under the Cruciatus. They had remained in St. Mungo's since."

James nodded, but couldn't bring himself to speak. The torture of the Cruciatus was a horrible fate, and the Longbottoms did not deserve its cruelty.

"Hermione Granger's parents were also targeted." Albus continued. "She was not at home at the time. They had no warning and no protection. The house was left in ruins." Albus sighed heavily and continued, "Luna Lovegood and her father were attacked while on a Muggle train to vacation in Sweden. There were over two hundred passengers. Only Seventeen survived, of which her father was lucky to be one. Luna lost her right arm during the attack, but managed to stave off the Death Eaters' advances until help arrived."

James was back to staring at the youths. He couldn't keep his eyes away from them. They had been personally targeted by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and had lost much before they had even graduated.

"The final target was the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family." Albus said, his voice still weary and sad. "There were four targets there, as both Harry and Hermione were present at the time, and Voldemort attended to it personally. The wards around the house had been temporarily increased due to Harry's attendance and Arthur's earlier promotion within the Ministry. The wards, however, only slowed them down.

"They were unable to escape, and so were forced to fight. Of the twelve souls present at the Burrow during the attack, only eight escaped with their lives."

James stared at Albus as his words registered, and then his eyes uncontrollably darted to the two redheads before him. The siblings were leaning against each other, Ron with his arm around the shoulders of his sister, whose eyes were closed against the memories. He didn't blame them for their pain, not in the least. He felt for them and their loss. He knew what it was like to lose those he loved. He closed his eyes, feeling his own emotions threaten to overwhelm him. The wounds were still too new to settle easily.

"Harry was able to break through one of the anti-apparation spells placed around the grounds, and they were allowed to escape before the house went up in flames." Albus said. "Five of the eight who were there are here now."

James looked at him questionably and Albus pointed to the werewolf beside him. James followed the man's finger to take in Remus' sad eyes.

"Harry had invited me for Christmas." Remus said softly. "The Weasley's, of course, were only too happy to have me."

James nodded, and took a deep breath, trying settle his nerves and emotions. He had known that the story wouldn't be easy, yet many had died before Christmas hols had even ended. He was beginning to fear how many had died in the year and a half between Christmas and the final defeat of the Dark Lord. James let his head fall back into his hands as the Headmaster continued the story. James was no longer sure that he could look at any of those present while he heard it. They had lived it.

"After that Christmas, Tom shifted his focus. He hadn't eliminated any of his targets, but he had caused them a great amount of grief at the loss of their families. From January to mid summer Death Eaters seemed sparse in the Wizarding World. The Ministry scrambled to keep up with the incidents in the Muggle world, however. No one was able to get a true count of how many Muggles died at their hands, but we believe the number to be between three and four hundred." Albus paused and took a deep breath. James held his own.

"On August 15, Diagon Alley was destroyed."

James' head shot up at the sentence. Diagon Alley was saturated with magic and wards, to hear that it was attacked was one thing, but for it to be destroyed was nearly inconceivable. It was like hearing that Hogwarts had been brought to rubble and ruin.

"How?"

"They utilized the floo networks and any open area of apparation within the Alley's." Albus said. "They had it well timed, and appeared inside the Alley within seconds of each other. Harry and his friends were present, and were the first to retaliate, however alone they were in their fight for those first precious minutes. Voldemort's arrival caused a panic. It was the first meeting of Tom and Harry since the attack on the Burrow." Albus shook his head, seemingly unable to say more. James couldn't help but stare at the man, and when he seemed like he wasn't going to be forthcoming with more information, he searched the hall around him for confirmation.

"There were over sixty Death Eaters in the first round." Evander's voice was barely above a whisper but it sliced through the silence of the hall as if he had shouted. James' eyes shot over to the youth, though it was difficult meeting the man's unnerving eyes. "Half of them were already within Diagon, the other thirty apparated in. By estimation, thirty five souls were killed or severely injured before a single spell was sent towards the Death Eaters. Within five minutes the second round had entered Diagon via the Floo systems. Minutes after that the third wave arrived through Knockturn Alley. The Ministry nor the Order had even been notified until over two hundred Death Eaters were in Diagon Alley, robed and masked."

"The Order arrived in chaos." Remus said from his side. "There was little we could do except get everyone out, and try to stem off the worst of the attacks. Our priority was to save as many lives as we could."

James stared between them all, trying to comprehend what they were telling him. Diagon Alley had been overrun and destroyed by the Dark Lord's forces, and no one had been able to prevent it, or even combat it.

"The twins had a shop there." Ron said, drawing James' attention back to the youths. "Well, it was only Fred then…" Ron paused and shook his head slightly, his face hardening into determination. "He had hidden as many people as he could in the cellar beneath the store, mostly Hogwarts students in the Alley for school supplies."

"There were over thirty people crammed into that tiny cellar." Ginny said. "And Fred had set traps all over the store for when the Death Eaters made it inside. We found eleven Marked bodies within their store alone."

"After…" Remus started, "After it was over, we were able to go back in, and…assess the damage. Only Gringotts was still standing and in tact. It was the only building the Death Eaters were unable to enter. There was little left, everything was in ruins."

"Two hundred and thirty seven bodies." Evander said. James could feel the coldness in his voice despite its soft tones, and couldn't bring himself to look at the man's face. "Only Forty three bore the Dark Mark."

James closed his eyes against the site of those around him and dropped his head into his hands. He could barely stand the look of their eyes. If it was mid August when Diagon was attacked, it was likely crowded with Hogwarts students and their families there for school supplies and general shopping. The Alley would have been crowded, even if it was during a war. Few within the Wizarding World would ever think that Diagon could be destroyed, let alone attacked by such a force. Over two hundred people had died because of that mis-guided belief.

"All of that…" James whispered from his hands, "All of that within a years time." He was afraid to ask for the rest. If so much could happen within the short span of a year, then he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what happened in two, and when he knew it ended with his son's death.

"Tom did not hesitate, as he did in his first rise." Albus said quietly. "He did not restrain himself or his men in their missions."

"So many died." James said, "And for what? One man's lust for power."

The hall was silent, and James could hear only his own ragged breathing and erratic heart. He had faced Death Eaters and Voldemort before, yet nothing in his life could have prepared him for the events that were being told to him. He couldn't imagine living the story he was hearing, and the young adults sitting with him had fought on the front lines of that very war. He did not envy them, despite the strength they now held; he did not envy the path they had to take to receive it.

"Hogwarts roles were noticeably smaller that fall." Remus said. "Fifty seven students had died since the previous September."

"There were smaller scale skirmishes throughout the fall." Albus continued. His voice was soft, but it seemed to echo in the hall. "We began to receive some aid from foreign nations, such as France, Spain and America. With their help we were able to stall for time to regroup and plan. After the new year we all felt the imminence of some big event and were growing restless.

"On February 14 Voldemort and his forces stormed the Ministry building. It was our first major success, though many lives were lost on both sides, we won the struggle and Voldemort retreated. However, the building was abandoned within the week, and each department went underground separately."

"Something that should have been done as soon as He was resurrected." Snape said snidely.

"Yes, Severus." Albus said, "Hindsight is a wonderful thing. We all would have done things differently if we were aware of the future, would we not?"

James watched the short exchange in muted fascination. Snape's acerbic tone was expected and not unusual in his memory, but for the Slytherin to back down so quickly and so completely was not something that James was sure he had ever seen. He studied the dark man for a moment, noticing the conflicting emotions in his face. While his features were twisted into a semblance of antipathy, his eyes spoke of his respect for the Headmaster. James wondered at his own ability to see anything good within the man he disliked so much through school.

"Through the spring we were all growing desperate for an end." Albus said after a moment. "We had all felt the pain of loss, and the struggle was wearying."

James stared at the Headmaster in trepidation. He knew what was coming. Harry had faced the Dark Lord through the summer. Voldemort had been defeated, but his son had lost his life.

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	5. Searching For An End

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 05 – Searching For An End

James sat numbly, his heartbeat erratic, yet his mind was strangely blank. He stared at the elderly wizard across from him, dreading and yet yearning for the words he knew were coming. He wasn't sure that he would be able to handle hearing it, but he had to know. He had to know how his son had defeated the Dark Lord. He had to know how his son had died.

"Harry was, by that time, going through intensive training the likes that Aurors were well familiar with, yet even beyond their levels." Albus said, "Tom had fifty years of experience and knowledge over him and there was no chance to match that for Harry in the short amount of time we felt we had. Instead, he trained to face an adversary that was beyond his experience, his knowledge base, and even in some ways his power." Albus paused, shaking his head slightly as he stared down at his clasped hands. "Only Harry knows the full extent of his training. He had many tutors, and he rarely shared what he learned with anyone else."

James watched as the Headmaster sighed, his age seeming to grow in the show of weariness. "He remained at Hogwarts after the term ended, continuing his lessons until Voldemort came for him. His friends remained with him, his comrades and yet even they did not receive the full regime of training that Harry pushed himself through." Albus sighed, staring down at his clasped hands absently. The silence grew and James struggled to remain still in the overwhelming quiet of the hall.

"At times…I fear I made a grave mistake with Harry…" Albus' voice was thin and strained, and James held his breath at the words. Indignation, anger and a great sorrow filled him at the realization that Albus was admitting that he had done wrong by Harry. His trust in the old man across from him warred with the growing resentment at the treatment of his son by the same man.

"We could do without the dramatics, Albus." Evander said a bit shortly. James started slightly and stared over at the youth, a bit surprised at the show of emotion and shocked at the tone he used against the Headmaster.

"Yes, of course." Albus said seeming to come back to himself. He pulled off his glasses, resting the frames on the table and wearily rubbed his eyes with one hand. Clasping his hands before him again, and leaving the glasses on the table, Albus gazed up at the enchanted ceiling of the hall. James was struck by the old weariness displayed in the man's motions and posture.

"Tom and his forces stormed Hogwarts at the end of July; the thirty-first, actually." Albus said, his voice strangely absent. James had never heard such a tone come from the wizened wizard, and it unnerved him more than he liked. "It was the day it had all began." Albus continued in the same toneless voice. "And it was the day that it all ended."

A soft growl was heard from the direction of the red-eyed youth, and Albus sighed at the sound. "Yes, Evander, I know…I know." James stared at the old man, slightly curious at his reactions to the Slytherin-esque youth that seemed to command such importance to Albus. But his curiosity was drowned out by his burning desire to know what happened.

"We don't know of the numbers that Tom commanded," Albus said, "How many served him or struck an alliance with him. In the end it didn't matter. He brought none of his forces with him when he came onto the Hogwarts grounds, leaving them at the edges of the school's wards and lingering around the site of Hogsmeade. At his side was only his inner circle, the most trusted of all his servants. There were only twelve. It was ironic, really, that with Harry on that day in the castle were in total, twelve forces of the Light."

Albus lapsed into silence again, still gazing up at the afternoon sky above them. James didn't try to push him to continue, he couldn't bring his mouth to form the words even though his heart was screaming at him to shake the story from the man. He needed to know, but he was afraid to hear it. He couldn't make his body push for answers, he hadn't the will to fight that fear.

"I was with the Order, at our Headquarters for the summer." Remus spoke up from his side. James didn't turn to face him, simply watching the Headmaster continue to stare above them. "We were alerted to the situation, and arrived shortly after. It was quiet…so quiet, despite the masses of people and creatures surrounding the grounds. Nothing had started yet. We couldn't get into the castle. There was no way for us to go to their aid.

"We brought everyone out, all of our forces to face Voldemort's army. We knew that we had to distract the larger army in order to give Harry time to kill Voldemort. Since we couldn't protect him at his side, we did what we could do."

James heard Remus give a shaky sigh before continuing. "We had somewhere near eight hundred…we were sure that the Dark forces were beyond our numbers, but we had little other options. We faced them…" the werewolf trailed off and James turned his head from Albus to take in his old friend. Remus's amber eyes were wide and pained, staring across the hall out of the tall panes of glass to the grounds outside. "It was…terrible." The man struggled to speak the words. "We knew of the Dementers and the Wizards, and we suspected the Vampires and the Werewolves, but we were unprepared for the Lethifolds. I don't know how many of them they had captured, but they were on top of us before we were aware of them."

"Lethifolds…" James whispered, his mind conjuring images of the scene that such creatures would cause in great numbers, especially in the setting of a war. Invisible, wild stalkers; they would likely have not been detected until after they struck; their prey disappearing suddenly into the folds of their flesh with nothing but a half muttered scream left behind.

"We did what we could." Remus said softly, "And we bought the time that Harry desperately needed."

James didn't need to hear any of them say that they bought that precious time with equally precious lives. He knew without it being said. In such a war, the only thing that would slow time, was the struggle of those fighting it. He dreaded hearing the statistics of such a battle uttered in the cold, contemptuous tones of Evander's voice. Especially when he knew many of the ones who fought upon the lines. Especially when his son was one of them.

"We were in the Great Hall when the alarms went off." Neville said, his voice nearly as soft and powerful as Evander's. "We were going to celebrate our birthdays, and were just waiting for everyone else to arrive."

"We suspected that Voldemort would try something that day," Ginny said, "We just didn't expect for him to show up in the Great Hall with us."

James closed his eyes tightly at the words, seeing the scene in his mind as his imagination took over.

"It was strangely even," Hermione said, grimly thoughtful, "in numbers at least, but was terribly outmatched. Only half of us really had any chance in surviving a full out duel with a member of the Inner Circle. In the end what saved us all was Harry."

The hall was silent for a moment and James' eyes slipped open of their own accord, taking in the sight of the youths before him. Their faces showed a variety of emotions, not all of which James could or wanted to identify.

"Harry did it." Ron said, "Like he said he would. Some obscure spell that he wouldn't tell us about. And he did it. He got rid of Voldemort and all his minions."

"The death of Voldemort sent a shockwave of magic through the Dark Marks." Remus supplied from his side. "It gave us the pause we so desperately needed to take the upper hand. I don't know how much time had passed, or how long it took, but in the end we managed to subdue them, somehow."

"So many died that day," Albus mumbled softly, "So many…"

James closed his eyes again, taking in a deep breath, trying to force himself to ask the question he needed an answer to. He dreaded the response; didn't want to hear it, and could barely make his mouth form the words that his brain was screaming. "And Harry?"

The young adults glanced between each other, betraying little of their feelings, but James knew that they were reluctant to say anything. He could tell by their manners, by their looks, and almost feel it in the air around them. He hoped that they would say nothing, yet he wished desperately that they would hurry and tell him every detail of that day; of his son's last few hours.

"When the light and dust cleared," Hermione said, her voice soft but clear, "Voldemort and Harry were gone."

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo


	6. Drifting Along

Author's Note: This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 06 – Drifting Along

The story ended abruptly. James knew there was more, that there were explanations and details yet unsaid, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for them. He couldn't manage to form the words in his mouth as his mind cycled through dozens of questions. He could barely keep up with them in his head.

James stared unseeing at his hands and the wood grain of the table, seeing only the imagined scene of his son facing off with the most powerful dark wizard in centuries. He could only see his son, what he imagined his son to look like, falling under the weight of Voldemort's spells. He could not even manage to envision Voldemort's death, so focused he was on his own son's.

And he hadn't been there.

He wasn't there to help his son. He wasn't there to stand back to back with him, to protect him, to fight with him in the throws of the prophesy. He wasn't there to teach him, or guard him, or lock him away from the horrors of a devastating war.

James was only there after it was all over. There to see the slowly fading traces of a wizard's war. There only to hear the whispered tale of his son's life and death.

There too late.

"James," Albus's voice broke through his chaotic thoughts, "James, do not blame yourself."

James felt his body tremble as he raised his head to look at his old Headmaster. He heard the man's words, but he could not stop the heavy anguish that coursed through him.

"I wasn't there for him, Albus." James whispered. He could hear his own grief in his voice, echoing in his ears. "I wasn't there. He was alone, Albus, and I wasn't there for my son – my son. I should have been there."

"James." Albus stopped him, placing a wrinkled hand over his own. James took a deep, shaky breath. He felt himself on the edge of hysteria, barely able to hang on to his own sanity. He focused on his breathing, forcing his lungs into a deep rhythm.

"You should eat, and rest." Albus said softly.

James nodded, too tired to do anything else. He felt his body's shaky weakness, and his muscles' growing tensions and trembling. Remus rose and guided him to stand, holding one hand under his elbow to help steady him. James nodded again, letting his friend steer him down the length of the Great Hall. James had fleeting thoughts of the others in the room, Snape and the youths – Harry's friends – and the strange red-eyed man among them, but he couldn't bring himself to look over at them, to face the ones who where there; who had stood in the places he wished he could have stood, where he should have been.

Remus guided him through the hallways, James barely aware of their route as his mind whirled. He couldn't focus or settle, yet he felt as if his brain was empty of coherent thought all the same. He had known that hearing the tale would be difficult, yet he had not expected such a shock to his mind and heart. He could not get past the death of his son, Harry's loneliness and the course he had to follow to defeat a dark lord.

He could not let go of the fact that his son had to face Voldemort alone, without him.

Remus paused at a door, waving his wand to unlock it, and steered James into the room. James didn't recognize it. It looked like a common room or sitting area.

"Where are we?" James asked, taking in the desks and sofas scattered around the room. There was a large fireplace flanked by tall bookshelves, and the picture windows looked out over the school grounds.

"The Professor's Lounge." Remus said.

"Professor's Lounge?" James mumbled, taking in the dusky skies out the tall windows.

"Yes," Remus said, "You can stay with me in my chambers until, well until whatever you decide."

James looked at his friend, again struck at the aged difference he saw. Remus was worn and older, his tawny hair streaked with dull grey. James could see the weight of years in his eyes and it saddened him immensely.

"I wasn't there for you either, Moony." James said softly, "Or for Padfoot or the Longbottoms or anyone. I wasn't here at all."

"It is not your fault, James." Remus said, "There was nothing you could have done to change the spell that Voldemort used against you. Do not blame yourself for not being here then. You are here now, and that means far more than you know."

James closed his eyes, fighting against a host of emotions he couldn't quite identify and didn't want to. Remus took his arm again and James let the werewolf guide him through the room into a short hallway beyond. It was lined with doors, and Remus stopped at one near the front, whispering a word to the portrait of a goblin hanging on the wall next to the door.

James took in the chamber beyond, noticing the scattered belongings and personal touches. The room was comfortably though sparsely furnished, and had a familiar atmosphere that put James in mind of the Gryffindor dorms. James sunk into the deep sofa in front of the fireplace, suddenly realizing how tired he really was.

"You should eat." Remus's voice roused him from a doze. James yawned, sitting upright and started at finding the coffee table before him piled with food. Remus chuckled at him, sitting in a chair across from him. "The House Elves are spoiling you, you know." He said, waving at the selections of Hogwarts fares.

James grunted in response as he picked at the food, hungry but cautious of the nausea that tended to come with exposure to the Cruciatus. Remus poured them both tall glasses of pumpkin juice, eating his own meal at a more sedate pace than his friend. James savored the meal. He hadn't had Hogwart's food in years, and he had nearly forgotten the pleasures of it.

They ate in silence, James growing more confident in his stomach's reactions to the food. Only after they had had their fill, and each sat back with cups of tea did they speak again.

"How are you, James?" Remus asked, watching him intently. James was reminded then, of his friend's older years.

"Just about horrid." James said honestly, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don't know how to handle all this." He sighed, setting his tea down and reaching into his robes for the figurine. The glass stag glistened in the firelight, making it seem as if it moved in his hand. It was warm to his touch after sitting against his body, reminding him of the old charms that used to be on it. It would move and prance across the top of the dresser, upsetting the various little knickknacks that got in its way, making Lily laugh at the sight and remark on James' similarities to it. It had been a wedding gift to them from their friends.

"You still have it?" Remus asked, staring at the figurine with a small smile. "Sirius spent weeks carving that. It was probably the longest he was ever able to focus on one thing."

"The charm is worn off." James said, turning the stag in his hands.

"I suppose it would by now."

James nodded. "They didn't take anything from the house. It was mostly just left alone. They didn't even trash it or set it on fire."

"From what little we know of that night, the Death Eaters fled at Voldemort's disappearance." Remus said, "Albus was one of the first there, he made sure that the manor was treated respectfully."

James nodded again, hugging the figurine with his hands as he let snippets of memories float in and out of his mind. Images of Lily and their small son, of the house they hid within when it was bathed with the golden light of sunsets.

"I miss her." James whispered, feeling his eyes water at the admission.

"So do I." Remus said softly.

"Does it get easier?" he asked. "Does the pain ever go away?"

Remus looked away to the fire, the light playing across his face and sparking in his eyes. "Not really." He said, "You just get used to it I guess. It dulls, and gets less powerful, allowing you to feel other things."

James raised his head to look at his friend, still not accustomed to the age he found there. Remus had lived sixteen years that he had not. They were nearly a generation apart in age. James was just twenty-one.

"How old are you now, anyways?" James asked, a small smirk trying to find its way to his mouth. It was nothing like the grins he used to give; the cocky, humorous smirks and smiles that accompanied each joke and jabbing comment, each successful prank. He wondered for a moment, if he would ever be able to smile like he used to.

Remus nearly jumped, turning back to him with a startled look that quickly turned into a scowl. "Thirty-seven." The werewolf said, sitting up straight in his chair and composing his face into some semblance of maturity. "And I'm not old, so don't even say it."

"You're getting there, though." James said, pointing at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

Remus narrowed his eyes at him, refusing to speak and let James continue his jabbing comments and jokes. James mock-pouted and settled back into the depth of the sofa with a small, triumphant smile. He held the figurine up in front of his eyes, feeling his smile slip away. Lily had always loved his smiles, returning them with her own, before waving her wand towards him and demanding to know what mischief he had just caused. He remembered that she said their son had had his smile.

"Was he like me?" James asked, staring absently at the figurine in his hand.

"He looked like you." Remus said, "But he had Lily's eyes."

James smiled sadly, trying to picture his son, looking so much like his father; the coltish limbs of his youth, the wild untamable hair and graced with Lily's beautiful eyes. "I wish I could have known him."

"He was quiet most of the time." Remus said, "And he was smart when he put his mind to it. He was strong, James. He reminded me so much of you and Lily. Sirius used to say how much he was like you."

"Tell me about him."

"You should sleep, Prongs." Remus said.

"Remus, please." James said, looking over at his friend. "Tell me some his stories, what made him laugh? Was he a trouble-maker like we were? Did he play Quidditch? Was he a good flyer?"

"The best." Remus said, looking into the fire with a smile, his gaze far away, "He was a natural. The youngest Seeker in a century."

"He played Seeker?"

"In his first year." Remus said,

"First year?" James said, amazed. Even children who had grown up on a broom were not allowed to fly as first years on the school teams.

"Harry got on the school team in his first year." Remus said, "Quite by mistake, as I recall. He had no idea he could fly. He had never been on a broom before. McGonagal said she had never seen anything like it before. He dived after a rememberall like he had been on a broom all his life."

James smiled at the image, trying to imagine the scene. His son.

"He was amazing. I still can't believe what he could do on a broom." Remus continued, "I'd wager he could give you a run for your money, Prongs. He had no boundaries in the air. It was like no one bothered to tell him what he shouldn't be able to do on a broom."

James stretched back on the sofa, letting Remus' continued stories wash over him. He hung on every word, trying to catch and keep a hold of anything that was his son; trying to imagine what he was like. Remus' words soothed him, and the stories of his son's happier times covered over the tales of the war and the fighting for a while. James focused on the laughter and smiles and embarrassing situations that Remus told, trying to forget, at least for a time, what all else was going on in his son's life amidst the rare times of peace and happiness.

He relished the images of his son catching the snitch, winning the Quidditch match. Of Harry and his friends trekking through the forest with Hagrid, and combating Lockhart and Snape in classes like any normal school children would. He smiled when Remus told him his son had gotten a hold of their old Marauder's Map, feeling traces of pride and joy. He pictured them walking the trail down into Hogsmeade, a ritual of Hogwart's students for centuries. He chuckled at the tales of the Weasley twins and their pranks, so often tied to Harry's escapades.

James didn't ask Remus why they had the need to take a flying car to get to the school, or why they were trying to get past the whomping willow, or what hunted the creatures in the forest that caused the need to search out the injured. He didn't ask why Harry had a different defense teacher for every year of his schooling, or why he had need to hide a secret club and teach defense. He didn't want to know how it all tied in to the darkness. He wanted only the laughter and the smiles of his son's life. He wanted to hear of the good things that Harry had amidst all the horrors.

James drifted between sleep and imaginings, dreaming of his son's life. Remus' voice continued to talk, feeding the visions of his lost son as James slept and dreamed.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo


	7. Curious Distractions

Author's Note: This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Author's Note:** This is a random little plot bunny that had become annoying, so I decided to write it and get it out of my head…

**Disclaimer:** This is not mine. Not really. I'm just taking Rowling's characters and shaking them up a little. I won't hurt them…permanently.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Return Father

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

Chapter 07 – Curious Distractions

James woke late in the morning. The chamber was lit from the windows, and a cool breeze drifted through the open panes. James sat up on the couch, stretching his stiff muscles and shaking the sleep away. He felt immensely better than he had the day before, which surprised him somewhat considering the amount of the Cruciatus Curse he had endured. He had expected soreness and nausea for a week, not just a day or two.

He looked around, finding the chambers empty of any other presence. Someone had left a small breakfast tray for him on the table, toast and milk and tea still hot. A pile of clothing on the chair with the stag figurine perched atop it, reminded him that a shower would do him wonders.

James found the washroom off the main chamber, and stood under the hot spray of the shower, relishing the heat as it worked his muscles into further relaxation. He found trousers, shirt and robes in the clothing left for him, and boots of a size too small for Remus, though they fit him well enough.

Cleansed and dressed, James returned to the couch and enjoyed the simple meal, taking in the room, which was so much like Remus with the walls lined with books and parchments in half-neat stacks on the desk. James wondered about Remus' presence at Hogwarts, living in the Professor's quarters.

Deciding to find his vanished friend, James left the chambers, letting the doors close behind him as he made his way out to the hallway and through the staff lounge. He encountered no one else, and the castle was quiet as he wandered the hallways unsure where the werewolf would have gone.

James finally caught the sound of Remus' voice near the hospital wing. He hovered near the door to the ward, hearing the discussion between Remus and others, though he could not see them past the curtains in the room, and their words were muffled. A curtain was suddenly pushed aside, and a familiar woman emerged, leaving Remus's form half visible in the curtained area.

"Just rest, dear." Poppy said, bustling about the table at the foot of the bed, "I'll give you a pain reliever potion and dreamless sleep for the night."

There was a sharp tone from the bed, the words muffled by the distance and the curtain.

"Well," Poppy said, sniffing slightly in response, "Have it your way then." She said as she turned and retreated to her office. James raised an eyebrow at the exchange, wondering what the patient could have said to put Madam Pomfrey into such a huff.

"I am sorry," Remus said to the patient on the bed, "I wish there was more we could do."

James heard a short response, but couldn't catch the words, though he was sure that the speaker was male. There were more words, only a few of which he could understand before Remus spoke again.

"I agree, Evander, you can't avoid it, you shouldn't. No one else can do it for you, you made sure of that. You have to talk to him."

"It's just been done. How can I?" Evander's soft tones carried beyond the curtain.

James entered the room, not wanting to eavesdrop on them, and his usual curiosity piqued to the identity of the patient. He rounded the curtained wall, stopping to peer over Remus' shoulder at the person in the bed. Snape was there, stretched out under a pile of blankets and paler than James remembered ever seeing him, half glaring at the youth who stood on Remus' other side.

"Potter." Snape said, catching sight of him and sending him an icy glare.

"Snape." The youth said, with what James would call a distinct warning tone, Evander then followed the Slytherin's glare to James. The youth narrowed his eyes at him, but otherwise watched him with a guarded look. James took the three men in, getting the sensation that he had missed something, some secret or piece of knowledge that had not been said. He only half ignored the sensation, usually trusting his instincts, which had saved him in the early war more than once. He also reminded himself that he had missed sixteen years, and that such feelings would likely be common to him for quite a while.

"James, how are you feeling?" Remus asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Well enough." James said, looking between Snape and Evander once more before turning towards his friend. Remus smiled at him, revealing sharp canines. "Come on, let's leave Severus to glare at the curtains and go outside before the weather turns cold on us."

James smiled slightly and followed Remus out of the hospital ward. He glanced back at the two he left behind, catching Evander's red-eyed, watchful stare. Evander turned an annoyed look to Snape behind the curtain as they left.

"Sleep well?" Remus asked as they walked down the hall.

James nodded, "What's up with Snape?"

Remus looked concerned a moment as he glanced back towards the hospital ward. "He's dying."

James nearly tripped at the words, and stared at his friend in slight shock. To hear that Severus Snape was dying was about the last thing he had expected to hear. While he didn't like the guy in the least, he had gained a grudging respect for the man. "What?"

"Severus is dying, James." Remus said.

"But he looked fine yesterday." James said.

Remus nodded, "Yes, and he still looks fine today, but it's not a physical sickness that's killing him."

"Then what is it?"

Remus paused, forcing James to stop with him. "Severus took the dark mark shortly after graduation." Remus said, holding up a hand to stop James from speaking, "Not long after that he turned from Voldemort and became a spy for the Light, working for Albus. Albus always trusted him, and because of that, so did I. Severus was a hard man to live with, but he was good at what he did. You know most of this, he was already passing us information before you went into hiding."

James nodded, knowing that Severus had delivered the warning that Voldemort would come after the Potter's, after their child when it was born.

"When Voldemort was defeated a few weeks ago," Remus continued, "Within days, every Death Eater succumbed to death. It appeared as if they had swallowed a poison, or got very sick suddenly. We don't know why, really. All we can guess is that the dark mark had something to do with it. Snape is not an exception to this, though he lasted on his own longer than most of the rest of them. Evander is able to stave off the worst of the effects, but we only recently concluded that we cannot fully stop the process. Severus is dying because of the dark mark on his arm, and the magics connected to it."

"The mark can't be removed?" James asked.

"It never has been." Remus said, "No one has ever had their mark removed by Voldemort or anyone else. As far as we know, Severus is the last of the Death Eaters alive, and he's only lived this long because of what Evander is able to do."

James was silent at that. He wasn't sure what to think about Snape's impending death, or the effects that the mark had on all of Voldemort's followers after their lord's death. In a way he was glad that the Death Eaters didn't have to be hunted down or imprisoned or even worried about, yet the concept that they all died along with their dark lord was a bit sickening. James wondered if the Death Eaters had known about that clause in their contracts with him.

"Who is Evander?" James asked as the two began walking again.

Remus seemed reluctant to speak of the youth, tilting his head to the side as if unsure how to proceed. James couldn't help his own curiosity about the red-eyed man.

"His name is Evander Black." Remus said, watching James out of the corner of his eyes.

"Black? He's related to Sirius?"

"In a way. Evander is an adopted heir to the Black name."

James pondered that a moment, then asked the question that was most pressing to him at the time, "Why are his eyes red?"

Remus shrugged. James wasn't sure if the werewolf didn't know or just didn't want to say. "You should ask him, James." Remus said in a tone that told him that the werewolf would no longer speak about the youth. James' curiosity just about went through the roof. He was never able to control it, and the mystery surrounding the red-eyed man offered a tantalizing distraction from his own grief and memories, so long as he didn't look into the red eyes; eyes that stirred up the memory of Voldemort before he could even think to stop it.

"Alright, Remus." James said, "I can tell when you refuse to speak. You just usually did it when Sirius was trying to get you to answer all his homework questions for him."

Remus smirked at him, then sobered. "I would tell you, James, but you have to ask Evander. I can't tell you about him."

James thought it strange, but let it be, not wanting to push his friend. "Alright, shall I now?" he asked, stopping and gesturing back down the hall the way they had come. Remus stopped a pace beyond him, and studied him a moment, as if trying to decide his answer.

"If you want to." Remus said finally. James had no idea what to make of the entire situation. Remus seemed in turn reluctant to let him talk to Evander, and then almost forcing his curiosity onto the youth.

"Perhaps you should." Remus said, "I've a classroom to prepare, and Evander could use a distraction from Severus' condition."

"You are a teacher here, then." James said. "I wondered."

Remus nodded, "Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Figured you would always make a good Professor, Moony." James said. "When does classes start up then?"

"Less than a week."

James sucked in a deep breath, looking around the hallway and feeling slightly lost. "It's the end of August." He said quietly, "It should be the start of November."

"You should go talk to Evander." Remus said. "Give you something to latch that curious mind of yours onto."

James gave his friend a lopsided look, knowing that Remus wasn't trying to get rid of him so much as try to help him. James was always better at dealing with his grief when he had distractions through the day, anything to keep his mind from descending into a whirlwind of memories and sadness and what-if's. He spent the week after his parent's deaths researching in the library and disproving a host of the rumors circling around the Hogwart's students. After that week his sadness hadn't gone away, but he could handle it better. Remus knew how James had reacted to the deaths of his parents, and James recognized that his friend was helping him handle the loss of his wife and son.

Remus waved him down the hall, "Go."

"Yeah," James said, pulling a hand through his hair and giving him a small smile as he turned back down the hallway.

"Meals are in the Great Hall," Remus said after him. James waved over his shoulder and rounded the bend, hearing Remus' footsteps fade behind him. James retraced his steps back to the hospital wing; they hadn't gone far. He paused in the doorway again, spotting Albus standing over the foot of the bed where Snape was.

"Headmaster," James greeted, wandering into the ward. He rounded the curtains, hoping to spot Evander, but the youth was gone.

"Ah, James," Albus greeted with some concern, "How are you feeling?"

James glanced towards Snape, and then back to the Headmaster, "I'll be alright." He said honestly, knowing that if he said he was fine that Albus would know it for a lie.

"Good, good. Please let me know if I can do anything to help you, James."

James nodded, seeing the sincerity in the old man's eyes. James noticed then, that Albus, like Remus was so much older than he expected him to look. Each time he looked in their direction he was surprised again by their age, unnerved by the years that had been added to their faces and their eyes. He expected unknowingly to see them in a certain way and suddenly was reminded by their faces how much he had missed. How much he had lost.

James sucked in a deep breath, trying to ignore the memories, the emotions that came with them, the grief that threatened to overwhelm him if he let it.

"Were you looking for me, James?" Albus asked, pulling him from his thoughts. James started a bit and looked back at the headmaster, grateful for something to focus his thoughts on.

"Actually I was looking for the Black kid."

"Evander?" Albus asked, his eyes bright, "Ah, Severus, do you know where he wandered off to?"

James heard Snape sniff stiffly, and turned to take in the Slytherin. Snape wasn't quite as pale as he was a bit ago, but James wouldn't say he was healthy either, and the man appeared to be distinctly uncomfortable, with traces of pain lining his face.

"Anywhere but my labs," Snape said snidely, "Though I doubt that he's learned to obey overnight, in which case give him to Filch for breaking into a Professor's rooms and tell the man to string the boy up from the Quidditch posts."

Albus chuckled, and James found himself surprised, and even a little impressed. He had never noticed that Snape had a sense of humor that would agree with his own.

James glanced at Snape, feeling like he should say something to the man, something to thank him for aiding his son, for saving his life. He was unsure how the Slytherin would take it. At the best of times the two of them were grudging comrades in a war, suspicion and long-fueled dislike heavy between them.

"Severus is probably right." Albus said. "The potions labs were moved this summer, I'll show you the way if you like, James."

James nodded, turning to follow the Headmaster out of the ward. He paused at the edge of the curtain and looked back at Snape, finding the man's dark eyes watching him. He couldn't read the man's expression, and wasn't sure that he wanted to.

"Thank you." James said simply, looking past Snape out the windows behind him, unable to fully meet the man's eyes. He dragged his gaze back the Slytherin, seeing slight surprise written across the man's features. "Thank you, for helping Harry." James repeated.

Snape looked away, his profile sharp against the walls of the hospital. "If he isn't in the labs, I'd check the Quidditch pitch." He said.

James blinked, a bit surprised and confused, but he knew that Snape had received his thanks. There was little that James knew he could do otherwise.

"Oh, and one more thing." James said as he took another step, bringing himself in line with the curtains, and slightly out of view of Snape. "I am sorry for the way I treated you through school."

James didn't offer any further explanations or reasoning, nor did he wait for a response. He wasn't really looking for one, and didn't want to hear whatever acerbic insults the man would come up with in reply to his apology. James could remember the words that Snape had spat at him the first time James had tried to apologize. It hadn't been so long ago for him, but James wondered if Snape recalled the incident.

James joined Albus in the hall, pointedly ignoring the look that the headmaster was giving him. Albus allowed him his silence, leading him down the halls through the school. It didn't take long to reach the classroom. It was situated on the main floor of the school, in a room with tall windows along one wall. The door was unlocked, and the windows cracked open, letting the cool breeze filter into the room.

Evander was not there.

"The potions classroom in the dungeon was heavily damaged in the attack on the school a few weeks ago." Albus said, stepping into the classroom. "We decided to move it up here, as we had more than just the potions labs to repair for the school year."

James wandered into the classroom, recognizing the familiar desks and stools that stretched across the floor, the cabinets that lined the walls, filled with vials and jars, though little else. The atmosphere of the classroom was strange. The light beaming in through the wall of windows made the classroom feel far different from what he was used to.

"Is Evander training to be a potions master or something?" James asked, eyeing the stack of empty cauldrons next to the basin, wondering why the youth would likely be found in the lab.

"No. He's a student here." Albus said, "In his seventh year come next week."

"A student?"

"Yes. Many of our students missed a year or two of their schooling. Evander is one of those, like Harry's friends, he never graduated. They will be here this year to complete their NEWT classes."

"How old is he?" James asked. He would have guessed that Evander Black was young, but not young enough to have never graduated. The man was far too powerful to be that young. His magic was more mature and strengthened than many adults that James had met. The shear presence of him was beyond many of the Aurors that James had trained amongst.

"Let's see," Albus said, poking his head out one of the windows, "He is eighteen now, I should think."

"That young?" James said, surprised.

"He has been through much." Albus said, "As have many of our youths. His generation faced the war, and most fought in it."

James looked around the room absently, dwelling on the thoughts of the young people of their world fighting in a war of devastating proportions. James had yet to witness most of the scars that war left on their world, but he saw pain etched into the eyes of those who had faced Voldemort himself. And James felt the gaping hole of his own hurts, still more wound than scar; too recent even for him to face fully and speak of it.

He could barely separate himself from them. In his own mind he was only recently graduated, only a few years out of Hogwart's halls. He was only in his early twenties, grown into a world descending into war, and trained through his NEWT classes and the few years afterward to fight in it. He was barely older than the young people who fought next to his son in a war that ended merely weeks ago.

"It's over then?" James asked, leaning back against the counter, staring out the windows to the grounds beyond. "Is it really over?"

Albus came and settled himself onto a stool across from him, arranging his robes around him absently. The old man looked him in the eye.

"It is over." Albus said, his voice both firm and gentle.

James took in a deep breath, holding it a moment before letting it go in a rush. "It's hard to grasp, that he's gone."

"Yes, it is difficult." Albus said, "More so even this time than it was sixteen years ago. People fear that he is not gone, as we thought he was before. That he will again emerge from the shadows, out of our dreams and come back to begin it all again."

James shook his head, trying to grasp a hold of the idea that the dark lord was gone, that he had been gone and then returned and had to be faced a second time. James was again faced with the fact that he missed so much. He still had trouble accepting that Voldemort was gone, and those around him had to face that very same thing more than once.

"You found all of them, then?" James asked.

"The Horcruxes?" Albus said, "Yes. Eventually, we found them all." James stared at the headmaster, hearing the note of sadness in his voice, the hidden depth of meaning of something more to his words.

"What were they all?" James asked, "Lil found the sword, and we knew of Slytherin's ring and locket. How many were there?"

Albus watched him a moment, giving James the distinct impression that the man didn't really want to tell him or was reluctant to do so. "There were six in all, discounting the piece of soul left in Tom's physical body." Albus said, "Tom's diary, which he wrote during his school years. Harry destroyed it when he faced the Basilisk in his second year. He didn't know what it was at the time, of course, but I knew then. Slytherin's ring I found a few years later, and destroyed it then. It nearly took my arm." Albus held up his right arm, letting the sleeve of his robe fall to his elbow, revealing a patch-work of scarring along his hand and arm. James didn't ask him what curses was placed on that ring to cause such damage.

"We found traces of the locket some time later." Albus continued, "It had been destroyed years ago by Regulus Black when he betrayed and escaped Voldemort."

"Sirius' brother?" James asked, a bit surprised that Regulus would turn from Voldemort.

"Yes, he did us more service than we knew at the time." Albus said thoughtfully. "The fourth was Hufflepuff's cup, in the possession of the Malfoy family. We know only that the young Draco Malfoy, Lucius' only son destroyed it. We do not know if Draco died by the Horcrux's power, or his father's. Gryffindor's wand was found by Harry, though he never did tell me where he discovered it. It was the fifth Horcrux. He destroyed it when he was seventeen I believe. Not long ago. He was severely injured from it, but he survived, unscarred by those wounds, though he spent some days in Madam Pomfrey's care."

James tried not to dwell on the raw magical power that would have lashed out at the destroyers of the Horcruxes. He didn't want to imagine his son being the focus of such rage and anger that was infused within those magics. He didn't want to imagine the wounds that would have resulted from it, splashed across the flesh of his son.

"And then there was Ravenclaw's sword, which you and Lily had in your possession."

James nodded, remembering the sword, "Lily tore it apart. She pulled the soul out of it and shattered the sword."

"Harry found it in a cottage in Ireland. He said Voldemort's soul was no longer there."

James nodded again, looking away from the man out the window. "We had gone to that cottage for our honeymoon." James said, "She thought it would be a good place to hide it until we figured out how to destroy it."  
"It was a good hiding place." Albus agreed, "How did she pull the soul from it?"

James shrugged. "I'm not sure what she did. She was a genius with charms, I could never understand all she did with her spellwork. She was so smart." James sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. "All I know is that she pulled the piece of soul out of the sword and the sword shattered."

"What did she do with the Horcrux?" Albus asked, "What did she do with the piece of Tom's soul?"

James darted his eyes to the headmaster, then away again. "I'm not positive." He said, staring at the floor of the classroom. "I asked her, then I told her not to tell me, that I didn't want to know in case Voldemort ever got a hold of me looking for secrets. So she didn't tell me."

"But you suspected something, didn't you." Albus said, "What do you think she did with it?"

James shook his head, not wanting to think of his theories. He hadn't wanted to consider them months ago when they surfaced, nagging into his mind, and he still didn't want to explore the possibilities now. He didn't want to think about the consequences if his theory was correct.

"James?" Albus prodded, "Did she put the soul into another object? Is it still out there?"

James shook his head again, "No, I don't think she moved it into another object."

"What then? What did she do?"  
"I'm not sure, Albus." James said, staring out the windows again, feeling in a daze as his suspicions and theories surfaced again. He had almost managed to forget them and put them out of his mind in the past months of his life.

"James." Albus' voice said, stern.

"I think," James started, "She might have transferred the soul into Harry."

Silence greeted him, and James nearly cringed but turned to look at his headmaster. Albus was staring at him, but not really seeing him, his eyes were distant, as if staring into his own memories.

"That would ensure Harry's survival if Voldemort tried to kill him." Albus said, his voice quiet as he continued to dwell and process on the idea. "Voldemort would not have been able to destroy his own soul."

"Makes sense." James said, refusing to think what other effects such a thing would have had on his son.

"When did she do this?" Albus asked. "Was there any marks on Harry afterward?"

"A few months ago." James said, "And there was a scar on his forehead, jagged." James traced the back and forth shape against his own head over his right eye.

"Was it healed?"

James nodded. "Yes, Lily said she healed it right away. It didn't seem to bother him at all."

"James," Albus said, "Harry is known for that scar. It marks him. When I found him that night, he bore a lightning shaped wound above his eye. It was a fresh wound, bleeding and raw. I assumed it was a recent cut, the mark left from surviving the Killing Curse."

"No, it was months ago, back in the summer."

"Perhaps it was opened again because it was Voldemort's killing curse that struck him." Albus said, sitting back a bit, looking as if he were puzzling through something.

James remained silent, letting the old man think it through. James was still unsure that that was what Lily had done, but there had been small hints, clues that pointed to such a thing. James realized and understood why Lily would have done it. It would have indeed, ensured Harry's survival against Voldemort's own hand. Voldemort would have been unable to kill him, though it would not have easily stopped anyone else. But Lily had been so sure that Voldemort would want to kill Harry with his own wand, if ever given the chance. The simple audacity of the prophesy – that a child would be the dark lord's downfall, would have ensured Voldemort's direct attentions.

"That explains a lot." A voice echoed from the door. James jumped slightly at the unexpected sound, turning to find Evander Black standing in the doorway, his red eyes glinting in the reflection of the sunlight.

Albus looked at the youth over the rims of his glasses, "Yes, yes it does."

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo


End file.
